Prologue Read Free Page B

He smiled to himself and softly closed the drawer.
Natasha returned and announced that the cyclotron was warming up and would be ready in 10 minutes.
“Thank you, Miss Nikitin.”
“By all means. Please call me Natasha.”
“Thank you, Miss Nikitin. That will be all.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Natasha was tall and attractive, with angular features, bright blue eyes, and long brown hair that hung straight down her back. Those hairstyles were discouraged by the Central Agency but she apparently wasn’t interested in impressing the powers that be. Either that or she was too well connected to care.
She said she was from Central Asia , although she looked much more European than Asian. He hadn’t interviewed her himself–that had been Nigel’s prerogative–but Nigel mentioned that her parents had been killed in the Soviet Union’s Second Great War with China around the turn of the century when she was still an infant. That would make her 27 or so. The fact that her parents were martyrs of the Soviets’ Second Great War made him uncomfortable. After being raised in a Soviet political orphanage it was easy to see how a loyal spy could be created. And that she was a spy, Paul had no doubt. He, Lewis and Natasha were the only ones with access to the filing cabinet. He made a mental note to discuss her presence in greater detail with Lewis.

 

 

On his way home Paul shook his head at how complicated kids’ school projects had become since he was a kid. Ah, but Grace was doing well in school and seemed motivated. These days too many kids, even in the Northeast District, were looking to just get by and get a job, he thought as he turned and headed toward the Kennedy Library. Not that there was anything wrong with getting a job, but there should be…more to it than that, some sort of passion about what you did, finding something you loved and pursuing it.
Thankfully, Grace had an active mind. Her goal was to go to Africa and study wildlife
He pulled into the parking lot at the Kennedy Library, walked in and paused in the austere marble foyer. Disk, he was here for a disk. He headed in that direction when he saw a sign for a new exhibit, “ America Since 1960: Sixty-six Years Of Progress Toward A Peaceful Workers’ Paradise .”
He’d heard about that. It was Soviet propaganda sludge, of course, and Boston had voted against allowing it in until Vodkaville had promised to fund an additional six months of work on the Big Dig. The chief engineer said they would finish the project some time in the next couple of years.
He strode past the exhibit room on his way to burn the disk for Grace in the bookstore.

“Sir?”
He paused, and glanced around. The place was oddly empty for this hour–the boycott, that’s right, he’d read that Boston was unofficially boycotting the Library until the exhibit closed. He saw three people in the room that normally buzzed with activity. The librarian read a newspaper.
“Sir?”
He looked at the exhibit room and saw a young, petite woman smiling at him.

“Have you seen the exhibit?” she asked.
“Um, no, sorry, I...have to go to the bookstore, you see…”
“I can give you a personal tour,” she said, beaming. Obviously a Soviet girl, Paul guessed she also was from Central Asia somewhere. Why so many Central Asians in Boston ? he wondered.
“Yes, well, thank you, but the bookstore is about to close, so I’d better-”
“The bookstore is open until ten tonight.”
Paul tried to think up another excuse, but she clearly wanted to give him a tour. No matter how many tours she gave, her pay wouldn’t change. She could sit in the corner and read, but she really wanted Paul to see the exhibit.
She cared about something.
This cheerful, beaming guide reminded him of Grace, who really wanted visitors to the deVere house to sit down and look through her books of African wildlife. The guide was now giving Paul that same look Grace gave people when she asked them to look at her pictures of